


Compathy

by Ariejul



Series: Alone in the Fallout [27]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-01-03 18:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12152550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariejul/pseuds/Ariejul
Summary: Compathy: a shared feeling, as in joy or sorrow.Short drabbles set in the Alone in the Fallout universe that don't have a place elsewhere. Not all of these are compliant with AitF's canon.





	1. Ephemeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ephemeral: lasting for a very short time._
> 
> Deacon, on Julia.

Their time together was ephemeral. He always knew that it would be because that’s just how it was, but even so, he gave himself over to her. How could he not?

How could he not, when her smile was sunlight but her eyes were sorrow, and the words she spoke a boon to his weary soul?

How could he not, when she saw him whole, not a broken remnant shattered by the world, like he was precious and perfect and everything he had never been?


	2. Sempiternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sempiternal: eternal and unchanging; everlasting._
> 
> Julia, on Deacon.

Their time together flowed sempiternal. She knew in truth it could never be so, but her heartbeat thrummed in rhythm to him. Before she knew, she was lost in his light. How could she not?

How could she not, when his tongue was silver but his eyes were regret, and the words he spoke lies designed to save her?

How could she not, when he saw her strong, not broken by a world no longer hers, like she was perfect and precious and everything she would never be again?


	3. War's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's over, and everyone can finally breathe. 
> 
> Deacon PoV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally getting around to posting these from my tumblr. Been meaning to for ages. This chapter was a filled kiss writing prompt for Sunsolace: War's End Kiss.
> 
> Enjoy!

Deacon watches the ashes settle from the explosion at CIT, a smile splitting his face. All their hard work. All the years of pain and suffering. All the sacrifices. It’s _over._ He never believed this day would come. The Synths can breathe free air for the first time ever, and the Commonwealth can pave its own road.

_If only you could see this, Barbs. We did it. We really fucking did it._

He glances over, watching Charmer close the detonator cover. Her hand shakes as she snatches it back to her chest, and Deacon’s expression fractures. She stares into the void left behind by the bomb, brow heavy and lips trembling. Before he can stop himself, he takes her shoulder.

“Charmer.”

She jolts and staggers away from him. A flash of terror crosses her face before she realizes it’s him. “Oh. Deacon. Um,” she brushes her hair back, a hesitant grin plastered on her face. “Sorry. Y-you startled me.”

He grins, a now familiar ache lancing his chest as he studies her. “Don’t worry about it.” The rest of the group is ignoring them, too busy celebrating amongst themselves to pay either of them any mind. Good. Charmer looks like she’s about to shatter any moment. He nods toward the doorway leading inside. “Hey, c’mon. Why don’t we get outta here?”

Charmer meets his gaze, her eyes watery, and nods.

He whisks her away, into one of the crumbling offices littering the ruins of Mass Fusion. By the time they sit down, she’s openly weeping. Comfort isn’t a strong point of his, so he just sits beside her, letting her lean into his shoulder.

Deacon isn’t sure how long they remain like that, but eventually Charmer sniffs and wipes her eyes with the butt of her palms. She looks so small in that moment. So _human_ it hurts. “Sorry.”

He huffs a laugh, glancing her way. “Don’t apologize. I get it.” Deacon would never say it, but he’s always found Charmer beautiful. Charmer’s sadness is just another facet of that, even as he wishes to take it from her. He awkwardly wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into him.

“I’m glad.” Turning toward him, her nose presses against the crook of his neck and her breath tickles across his skin causing goose bumps. Deacon closes his eyes and swallows heavily. It’s been a long time since he’s let anyone this close, allowed an outsider inside the walls he’s built to keep everyone out.

Charmer breaks every rule he has.

“Deacon?” She shifts to better see his face, concern clear in her voice. “Is something wrong?”

Her hand, resting against his chest, is a warm weight above his heart, and his breath hitches. He reaches up and cups her cheek in his hand without thinking. Charmer doesn’t pull away like she should; she leans _into_ his touch like it’s comforting, and her hand curls into his shirt front.

Deacon’s thumb brushes feather light against Charmer’s lips, like she might shatter beneath his touch. She sighs softly, lips parting beneath his fingertip as her eyes slip closed. Even now, she’s so trusting, willing to put her life in his hands without any hesitation, and that is terrifying. And thrilling.

He studies her face, the hue of her lips, the flush of her cheeks, the puffiness around her eyes from crying, the color of her eyes as she opens them. Everything about her is so devastatingly beautiful. He catches her mouth with his, fully aware that she may never forgive him.

He doesn’t expect her to, honestly. It’s a wholly selfish act, born from his need to know what she feels like against him.

Charmer surprises him again when she leans into him, hand sliding to the nape of his neck. She returns his affection with a gentle need. It startles him enough to pull back with wide eyes. The expression she gives him is questioning, but there’s a hint of a smile there.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling back with a frown.

Gently turning him to look at her, she smiles. “I’m not.” This time, she kisses him, and he doesn’t pull away.


	4. A Kiss to Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Blackbird hasn't been easy, and Julia isn't sure she's going to make it out the other side intact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another kiss prompt from tumblr, this time from ScorpioSkies! "Needing to Kiss to hide from the Bad Guys"
> 
> Enjoy!

The stench of rot wafts through the stairwell of Corvega, making Julia’s stomach churn as she follows Deacon down. It’s been quite a few months since she’d cleared this place of raiders for the Minutemen, but it seems they’re back in full force.

The current residents don’t seem to care about the bodies of the previous tenants littering the floor.

“Not much for housekeeping,” Deacon comments, glancing back over his shoulder at her.

Julia nods agreement, gingerly stepping around a bloated corpse. At least she no longer dry heaves at the very sight.  

The search for Blackbird has so far been an exercise in dead-ends, but if current intel was correct, the missing Railroad agent should be here. _Somewhere._ Julia hopes that he isn’t as dead as Carrington believes. She isn’t sure what Deacon hopes about the situation, but then again, that’s the case for most things.

Since joining the Railroad a couple months back, Deacon has been her constant companion, teaching her the intricacies of the Railroad’s infrastructure, but she still knows next to nothing about him. Hell, even the tight-lipped merc she hired her first time in Goodneighbor, MacCready, talks about himself time to time. But not Deacon.

For all she knows, he could be anyone or anything. His vast knowledge of a wide variety of subjects doesn’t help pinning anything about him down either. It’s certainly a handy thing to have when his given profession was _spy,_ but vastly frustrating for anyone attempting to learn anything about him.

Sometimes she wonders if he’s prewar like her, even if that notion is just this side of preposterous. At least she knows he isn’t a synth. _Probably._ She still has that stupid “recall note” in her pack. The entire situation surrounding that slip of paper still leaves a bad taste in her mouth, but she gets the lesson he was trying to teach her, even if the execution was in poor taste.

 _Exceptionally_ poor taste.

She tugs up the band of itchy material covering her chest as it tries to shift down, wishing there was more of it. The simple harness and rough trousers leave her arms and abdomen completely uncovered, a level of exposure that leaves her feeling incredibly vulnerable. However, it was the only disguise they could get that fit her on such short notice. Deacon’s outfit barely covers him anymore than hers, with his upper chest bare and stomach covered in bands of leather.

He wears it like a second skin, but he’s used to pretending.

Disguising themselves as raiders isn’t the plan Julia wanted to use, but Corvega is overrun. The number of raiders here is nearly triple what she took out before, and there is simply no way the pair of them could take on that many alone. Stealth was their only viable option. Deacon had reassured her that everything would be fine.

Julia wants to believe that, but this makes her skin crawl with anxiety. She knows well that her raider facade isn’t going to holdup to close scrutiny, and there’s only so much Deacon can do to cover for her. If she messes up at the wrong moment, they very well might not make it out alive.

“Boss, you gotta _relax,”_ Deacon murmurs, pulling her from her thoughts. He’s watching her, those stupid shades on his face hiding his eyes. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Julia swallows, her throat dry and scratchy. She manages a meager smile. “If you say so.”

“Trust me. I’m a professional,” he says, as if he wasn’t a self-professed liar. “Just follow my lead.”

She nods and does her best to do as he asks. Her eyes are drawn to the way he moves. He’s surprisingly muscular, and Julia has to force herself to look away before she’s driven to distraction.

The facility is _crawling_ with raiders, but no one seems to suspect them. So far the only attention they’ve gotten has been the occasional leer Julia’s direction. Even with her face streaked in grime, she’s prettier than the average Waster, and she’s very glad Deacon is with her. She doubts all they would do is stare if she was alone. Deacon jokes that next time she should cover her face with a bandana.

If Julia has her way, there isn’t going to _be_ a next time.

Corvega is gigantic, and so far their search has turned up nothing. After spending the night in enemy territory, they’re both determined to find Blackbird and get the hell out. Deacon reaches out a hand and pushes Julia against the stairwell wall, peeping around the corner into the hallway. She gives an inquiring glance when he looks back at her, and he motions there are two raiders chatting with his hands.

They’re too far away to hear what they’re saying, but Deacon can apparently read lips. He waits until they’ve both gone up the stairs toward the main assembly floor before waving her toward the stairs going down. He leans close to whisper in her ear. “They mentioned a captive downstairs, so I think that’s probably the place.”

She nods, and the pair descend slowly, taking care not to be seen. They find their objective in a corner by a rack of old tires surrounded by dead ghouls, and Julia’s heart drops. Blackbird looks to have been dead for a while.

“Oh no,” she mutters, covering her mouth, as Deacon checks his pockets for anything of note. Julia had never met the man, but her heart aches at the loss. To escape the fall of Augusta only to be killed in a raider camp…

She closes her eyes, trying to steady herself. If only they could have gotten here sooner, Blackbird might still be alive.  

Julia hears voices a split second before Deacon pulls her back against the wall. She trips over a ghoul arm and slams into the wall roughly with a huff. He’s got her pinned between his arms, body pressed to hers. He keeps glancing over his shoulder at the door. She can’t focus, the press of skin against skin filling her thoughts. Deacon is warm, far more so than she expected, every point of contact like a furnace radiating heat.

“– said something about some ghouls down here.” The voice, accompanied by the heavy thud of boots, snaps her back, thoughts a spiraling cacophony of anxiety. She starts fighting against his weight in an attempt to _get away._

They have to hide. They have to run. They’re going to be caught. They’re going to die, just like Blackbird. Just like her family. Just like her _world–_

His hands settle on her shoulders, and her eyes dart up to his, bewildered. Suddenly he’s close – _too close–_ murmuring something that sounds like “trust me,” and Julia’s gasp is swallowed by his mouth. She freezes, and he uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his clever tongue sliding between her parted lips as his hands rove down her bare sides.

She melts into him a moment later, grasping the base of his skull with one hand and shoulder with the other, returning the kiss with fervent desire. Julia rocks her hips into his, pleased at the groan of surprise she receives, and parts her legs as he slides his thigh between them.

“The hell–?” one of the raiders snaps when he finally sees them.

The other laughs. “Looks like we ain’t on ghoul duty after all. Already took the fucks out.”

The world tilts sharply back into focus when Deacon pulls away from her, and Julia’s glad he doesn’t let her go completely because she’s pretty sure she’d drop otherwise. He grins over his shoulder with a shrug. “Corpses get her hot. Y’know how it is. Now do you _mind?_ ”

Julia doesn’t pay any attention to their company, eagerly resuming when he turns back around, and he chuckles into her mouth, running his hand down her hip. She shivers wrapping a leg partially around his as she runs her nails over the stubble of hair at the base of his skull.

The raiders whoop a couple of times and leave. An undignified whimper worms its way out of her throat when Deacon finally pulls away. It takes her a moment to realize he’s speaking. She blinks. “What?”

He chuckles, hands still on her waist to steady her when he steps back. “So, uh, yeah. I said they’re gone. You alright?”

Staring at Deacon, the realization of what just happened slaps Julia in the face. He kissed her because she was going to blow their cover, and she’s a fucking idiot. He looks same as always, a little half smirk on his face like he’s got some secret. The kiss didn’t matter at all. It was just a means to an end.

Julia pushes his hands away and prides herself on how little her knees shake. “I’m _fine._ ” She rubs her face and glances away, mostly to hide how her cheeks are on _fire._ Her lips curl in disgust when she remembers they’re standing in a pile of dead ghouls. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

They never talk about the kiss, and Julia’s glad for that.


	5. We Can Never Be Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Deathclaws come to call, and Ryan stands in the aftermath of it.
> 
> Deacon PoV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr kiss prompt, this time for MrNinjaPineapple! "We can never be together kiss"
> 
> Enjoy!

In the aftermath of the attack, Ryan surveys his fields. Most of the crops look beyond saving, but that’s a battle for the morning. Nothing he can really do in the dark. He turns back inside, to more important things. To the most important person in his life.

Barbara is huddled in the corner, shaking. A floorboard creaks beneath his weight, causing her eyes to fly up, wide as saucers. As he approaches, she flinches, pressing into the wall. “ _Stay back!”_

He grimaces and stops, hands out stretched in supplication. “Barbs. It’s _me._ We’re safe.”

She scoffs, a sneer painting her face in an ugly light. “Safe? With _you?”_ She hugs herself tightly, glancing down at her hands. There’s blood on her arms, her shirt front. He can’t tell if it’s hers or not. Her hands won’t stop trembling. “You were _one of them._ You hurt people. You _killed_ people. People like _me._ ”

It’s another knife twist to the heart, but he deserves it. He deserves all of it. “It was a long time ago. I was young and _stupid_ and–”

“I thought you were different. _Special._ But you’re a liar and a murderer, just like them. Just like _all_ of them.” There’s a sharpness to her words, beyond the anger and fear.

He flinches, hands dropping to his sides and balling into fists. “I saved you.”

Barbara huffs, wetness slipping down her cheeks like rain. “ _That doesn’t make it better!”_ she snaps, gnashing teeth and flinging her arms. There’s a gash leaking blood down her arm, and it’s all he can focus on. There’s so much _red_ , bright against her pale skin _._

“You’re bleeding,” he whispers softly, closing the distance between them and reaching for her.

“ _Don’t touch me.”_ She jerks away, and staggers. There’s blood at her feet, dripping from her fingertips.

Ryan ignores her, grabbing her shoulders and guiding her to the couch to sit. He silently grabs the first aid kit and dresses her wound. Barbara makes halfhearted attempts to fight him, but she ultimately lets him help her. The soft sobs of her crying tear him apart. He caused this. It’s his fault.

_Everything is his fault._

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he ties off the bandage on her arm. He doesn’t look at her, can’t bear to. Nothing she said was wrong. He’s a monster. A _killer._ He can never change that fact, no matter what he does. No matter who he saves.

She says nothing but hesitantly takes his hand, fidgeting with his fingers like a frightened bird. He looks up at her from where he’s kneeling in the floor. The lantern light behind halos her head, and he’s bewitched. He cups the side of her face in his hand, surprised when she doesn’t pull away.

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to her lips that she returns in kind. Ryan can taste the salt of her tears, the sharp tang of it on his tongue mixing with the hint of sweet tea they drank hours ago. Barbara is beautiful and wonderful and _so_  kind, and he doesn’t deserve her in the slightest.

She pulls back, lips trembling as she studies him. Stiltedly, she touches his face, slides her thumb along the line of his cheekbone, his jaw, his lips before her touch drops away. Barbara swallows and glances away.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and he nods acceptance.

When she shifts to stand, he allows her, and watches as she walks into the bedroom and shuts the door. She doesn’t come out. Hours later, Ryan climbs into bed beside her and holds her close.

The next morning, he wakes to an empty bed, and Barbara gone as if she never was. Something inside him freezes solid.

He deserves it, after all.


	6. We Can Never Be Together, Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charmer falters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another kiss prompt, this time for Fielran (on tumblr. Not sure if they're also Fielran here on AO3). "We can never be together kiss"

Charmer stares down at her hands, bruised and scarred. She remembers when her hands were smooth and soft. She remembers when she was, too. Before the pain and the lies and the endless fighting. Before the Vault. Before her husband and child and her whole world ended. Before _she_ ended.

It’s only been a few weeks since the Institute was brought to its grisly downfall, but she can still feel the heat of the blast on her face. She can still remember the anger her child spat. She can still hear the screams and taste the bitter ash. She can still see the blood that will never wash away.

Sometimes, she thinks it would have been better if she died in the Vault with everyone else. Sometimes, she wonders if maybe she did.

The Railroad does good work. _Meaningful_ work. She wouldn’t have helped otherwise, but all the manipulation chafes. How many people did she lie to in order to destroy the Institute? How much trust did she betray? Will she ever be able to wash that away?

“Hey, boss, whatcha doin’ back here by yourself?” Deacon asks, leaning against the doorway, and for a brief moment, Charmer’s heart sings. Because she loves him so very, very much.

She glances up from her hands, smiling. “Just thinking.”

He laughs, kicking off the wall and plopping down beside her. “Dangerous pass time, that.” He bumps shoulders with her, and Charmer’s heart skips a beat. “Wanna talk about it?”

Her gaze drifts back to her hands, and she flexes her fingers, feeling the stiffness in her joints that once wasn’t there. “Nah. It’s really boring. You’d nod off, and then I’d have to listen to you _snoring_. No one wants that.” The grin on her face is easy but fake. Lying used to be harder than this.

Then again, she’s had a good teacher.

He huffs indignantly. “I do _not_ snore, thank you very much.” He cuts her a glance she can just barely see from the side of his shades. “Unlike _some_ people.”

Charmer finds herself laughing, slightly giddy. Deacon always seems to have that effect on her. She doesn’t mind. It’s one of the few things that reminds her she’s still alive.

Silence drifts between them pleasantly, and she is hyper aware of every point of contact their bodies make. Hips touching, knee brushing, elbow tap just now. She swallows heavily and pretends none of it matters.

“It gets easier,” Deacon says suddenly.

Charmer’s eyes dart up to his face, and he’s watching her steadily. She blinks, brows furrowed together. She doesn’t understand, tilts her head in confusion.

“The lying. After a while, you stop noticing. It doesn’t matter.” There’s something troubling about the expression he has, but Charmer can’t place it. Sadness wells in her heart. Deacon doesn’t mean that, and she knows it. It’s just another lie. One of so, so many.

Maybe one day they’ll drown her.

“I don’t think I want it to,” she hears herself say as she studies his face. Watching him never gets tiring. She always finds something new. The curve of his lips, the stubble on his chin, the wrinkles she can only just catch at the corners of his eyes, the shape of his nose. He’s so expressive, so full of life it _burns._

She finds herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him. What would he taste like, how would it feel? Would it make the emptiness inside her go away?

“If you want to, do it,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving hers, and Charmer blinks.

“What?”

Deacon grins. “Free pass. One time only.” He reaches up and plays with a strand of her hair. The look he gives implies that he’s waiting for her choice, whatever that might be.

Charmer crashes into him, mouth to mouth, her heart the only sound she can hear. He’s warm and inviting and kissing her back, and she can’t breathe. All she knows is the touch of his skin and the warmth of his breath, and how none of it makes the pain go away. It doesn’t save her from the void gnawing away at her heart.

If anything, it _grows._

Charmer jerks away, wet clinging to her cheeks as she stares at him. She staggers to her feet, lip trembling uncontrollably. His lips are flushed, his clothes slightly rumbled, and all she can see is Nate and feels an overwhelming sense of loss.

If she stays, she’ll become a liar, just like Deacon, and she can’t bear the thought.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, rubbing at her lips and cheeks. “I can’t. _I can’t._ ” And she runs.

Deacon doesn’t follow, and that hurts just as much.


	7. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara and Ryan
> 
> Barbara PoV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted for OC Kiss Week on tumblr in January. Finally got around to posting them here.
> 
> Enjoy!

Today had been difficult, the ground hard and unyielding, and Barbara’s muscles ached. But it was work she enjoyed, satisfaction overwhelming any protest of her body. A knock rang out from the door, and she turned in time to see Ryan poking his head in.

“Hey, gotcha a hot bath going whenever you’re ready.” Damp clung to him, clearly just from the bath himself. His blue eyes twinkled in the dim light, and she was momentarily mesmerized.

“Thanks,” she replied, gaze dropping away in hopes of hiding her scarlet cheeks.

The hot water pulled the knots from her muscles, and she sighed, scrubbing the grime clinging to her body and felt renewed. Wandering out to the living room, Ryan looked up from his book with a grin.

“Feel better?”

She dropped onto the couch beside him, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. She found it difficult to look at him without her breath hitching. “Yeah. So, um, what are you reading?”

“Nothing important,” he said, placing the book on the coffee table and turning toward her. Having his full attention made her insides flip-flop, and she had to force herself not to squirm. “Listen, I… uh,” he raked his fingers through hair, oddly hesitant. “Are you happy here, Barbs?”

Brow crinkling together, she met his gaze with a frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ryan sighed heavily, finally breaking eye contact and staring at his hands. “Bein’ a farmer’s hard work, and I don’t want you thinkin’ you have to stay because I helped you.” She noticed belatedly that he’s wringing his hands. “Anything you owed me has been paid in full.”

She reached out, fingers curling around his hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “I won’t lie. The work is hard, and I’m not used to it at all, but…” Barbara hesitated before cupping his cheek, “But I want to be here. I _like_ being here. With you.”

His eyes danced, searching the planes of her face before a half-grin quirked his lips. “Aw now, sugar, you’re gonna rot my teeth if you get any sweeter.” Any of his previous seriousness melted away, replaced by his usual devil-may-care attitude.

She flushed at the joke, pulling away from him. His flippancy stung, not that it was anything new, but she couldn’t stand being beside him a moment more, fearing her heart might shatter. “Yeah, well. I’m tired. Going to get some sleep,” she said, standing and walking toward her room.

“Wait.” Something in his voice stopped her dead. Something sincere. _Real._

“ _What?”_ she snapped, refusing to look at him.

Ryan didn’t say anything, soundlessly walking up and spinning her around. His hands were warm stroking her cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs as his fingers slipped into her hair. His lips were chapped as they pressed against hers, pulling all the thoughts from her head. She relaxed into him, returning his affection with fervor, only pulling away when they were both breathless.

His forehead pressed against hers, tendrils of damp hair tickling her temple. “Sorry,” he breathed, wrapping her in his arms. His next words were hesitant, like a confession. “I’m… glad. That you’re happy here, and you wanna stay. I… I _want_ you to stay.”

Barbara tilted her chin, dragging him into another kiss.


	8. Reverent Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia and Deacon and the moments in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC Kiss Week again. Day 2
> 
> Enjoy!

Julia leans back into the arm of the couch, her swollen feet propped on a small stack of pillows. Wiggling her toes, she grins ruefully, thinking how her ever growing belly has hidden her poor abused feet for months. It’s such a strange feeling not being able to see such an important part of herself. Sometimes she wonders if they’re still there.  

Her home is quiet; Shaun is visiting… someone. Julia can’t honestly remember who, but she knows he’s safe in the settlement’s walls. She isn’t sure about Deacon, but that’s alright. This bubble of calm is soothing, a rare moment of solitude in her hectic world. The quiet lulls her, eyelids heavy until finally slipping closed.

A soft sound pulls her from slumber, and Deacon grins sheepishly at the door. “Hey,” he calls softly, sitting at her feet and absently rubbing them. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Julia nearly purrs, his fingers expertly working away the aches of her body. “It’s okay. Shaun still out?”

He nods, pulling his ever-present sunglasses off before ensnaring her gaze. His eyes still mesmerize her. “Yeah. Think he’s gonna spend the night with Duncan.”

She nods, eyes again slipping closed as his hands make their way up her legs. “That feels nice.”

Deacon chuckles, and she can picture the half-grin tugging up a corner of his lips. His touch is methodical as he goes, his fingers brushing the edge of her shirt and lifting it over her stomach. Julia shivers at the sudden breeze, her skin pebbling. Palming her exposed skin, he rubs small circles with his thumbs. His hands have always been so warm.

Eyes cracking open, Julia watches as his gaze roams across her middle with unbridled awe. It’s an expression she’ll never tire of seeing. “Like what you see, handsome?”

He leans toward her, expression shifting impishly. “How could I not, beautiful?”

Julia thinks he might kiss her, but he surprises her, head dipping down and pressing a reverent kiss against her belly. “I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispers so softly she nearly misses it, and her heart melts.

Cupping the back of his neck as he softly coos to their unborn child, Julia feels content. “Ryan,” she murmurs after a time, the warmth of him pushing her closer to sleep as she runs her nails across his skin, “I love you.”

He grins against her naked flesh. “I know.” Kissing her swollen middle again, he holds her until she drifts off.


	9. Heated Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia hates the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC Kiss Week, Day 3.
> 
> Enjoy!

Julia leans against the railing of the Old North Bridge, watching the water idly flow. The days are growing shorter, the air chillier, and she sighs softly. Winter used to be her favorite season, but now it merely reminds her of the Vault and the suffocating cold of cryo. Nate’s face flashes behind her closed lids, and she misses him with a ferocity so sudden it steals her breath.

She hugs herself and wonders if this emptiness will ever go away. She can feel the ice crystals forming on her fingers, the sting of _too cold_ puncturing her skin, the blood in her veins icing, and _she can’t stop it–_

Deacon’s voice pulls her back, and she turns toward him with wild eyes. “Hey,” he grins so brightly it’s blinding. His expression shifts minutely –the causal observer would never notice– the furrow of his brows just barely peeking out from the top of his sunglasses as he studies her.

Quicksilver to her side, he wraps her in the blazing warmth of his arms before the cold can freeze her solid. Pressing a kiss to her temple, his breath puffs against her skin. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Julia shivers, burying her face into his chest, fingers twisting the rough fabric of his coat. “I… don’t know. I just–” Tears prick her eyes, burning the insides of her nostrils, and she hates it. Hates the weakness of it. “It’s so cold.”

He gently shushes her, tightening his embrace as she cries. And it’s his warmth, both physical and not, that saves her. She wonders how he manages it so well, being everything she needs. Her arms slip under his coat around him. It’s easy to forget how the cold lingers when he holds her.

“Hey,” he whispers, guiding her gaze up to his face. He brushes wetness from her cheeks, hand settling on the back of her neck. Deacon leans in, kissing her. It smolders, lighting fire inside her chest that grows like it’s wild, until the last of the cold is devoured in its wake. She whimpers when it ends, pulling a laugh from his lips. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I’ll keep you warm.”

Julia swallows, cheeks flushed, gripping his shirt in her hands like he might disappear. She bites her lip before nodding. “Okay. I trust you.” The cold isn’t frightening if Deacon is with her.


	10. Gentle Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia stands in the ruins of her past. Deacon is there to catch her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC Kiss Week, Day 4
> 
> Enjoy!

Julia isn’t prepared when she finds the house where her parents used to live. She hadn’t even realized until the sun glinted off one of the broken windows. Her eyes dance along the fractured wooden siding, flickering between the image she recalls and the one she sees now. The wind carries sounds of cars and children laughing and the life she will never return to.

Hand cupping her mouth to muffle the keening cry crawling up her throat, Julia moves like a creature possessed. With each step, her pace grows until she is running, _barreling_ inside. Deacon’s surprised cry behind her is a footnote in the sudden tsunami of her past.

The house is in ruins, two hundred years of garbage and debris gathered in the corners; the roof is sagging, and staircase to the second floor’s mostly gone. Tears slip down her cheeks, lip trembling as she slowly spins, remembering the way it all _was._ If she closes her eyes, she can almost hear her mother in the next room. Can almost smell the sweet scent of the pies she used to bake.

“Julia!” Deacon appears behind her, gun in hand. He grabs her shoulders and shakes her once. “What the hell?!”

She frowns. “Stop. You’re hurting me.” _And destroying the illusion._

He studies her, light bouncing off the lenses hiding his eyes. Belatedly, she realizes there’s blood flicked across the reflective surface. Her fingers hesitantly wipe some from his face, reality shaping back around her. There are dead ghouls at her feet; one’s still twitching. “Finally noticed?” he asks, exasperation leaking into his tone.

Guilt weighs heavily in her chest. She hadn’t even noticed the danger, but Deacon still saved her. He always does, and Julia trusts that he always will.

“Sorry, I just…” She turns away from him, eyes landing on the chair her father loved. It’s barely even recognizable, overturned and rotting in filth. It was in near shambles two hundred years ago –well loved, he said–  annoying her mother to no end, but after he passed, she couldn’t bear to get rid of it. She swallows down the lump rising in her throat. “This is – _was–_ my parents’ home.” The words hitch slightly at the end, betraying her.

Deacon doesn’t say anything for a long time, the silence drifting between them and allowing the past to rise again.

_Oh, Julia dear, how lovely to see you!_ She can hear her mother say. _And you’ve brought a guest. Let me put on some tea._ The thought burns, and she wonders if she would have liked Deacon. That she can’t be sure hurts more than she can bear.

“I’m sorry, Julia.” His touch is gentle, feather light down the bare flesh of her arm, lulling her back to the present as his fingers lace with hers. She turns to face him, surprised at how sad he looks. “If you wanna be alone, I can bug out for a bit.”

He starts to move away, but she hangs on, tugging him closer. “No. I’d like you to stay.”

She wanders in the ghost of her past, through each space she can access. It’s so easy, pretending her family is a room away and not lost forever. There is nothing worthy of note in the house, but she’d hoped for something. One small memento to cling to. Julia is worn thin by the end, and collapses against Deacon.

“I miss them,” she whispers into his shirt, a confession she had never allowed herself before.

Petting her hair, Deacon holds her. “I know.”

She sighs, fingering at the cloth of his shirt. “Thank you.”

He huffs a small sound that might be a laugh. “What for?”

Julia manages to meet his gaze, lips attempting a grin that falls mostly flat. “For staying. For just being here with me.”

He grins, lop-sided and playful. “Aw, it’s nothing, boss. Anytime.”

Her expression softens as she watches him, hands sliding up to grab the collar of his coat. Gently, fearful he might spook, she pulls him down into a quicksilver kiss. Part of her still feels embarrassed, kissing a man in her parents’ house. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

Deacon blinks before falling into step behind her. “Hey… hey, boss, are you _blushing?”_

Julia ignores his teasing as she walks away and into the sun.


	11. Blow a Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon is distracting, but Julia doesn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC Kiss Week, Day 5
> 
> Enjoy!

Julia’s standing in HQ, listening to Carrington detail her next mission. Normally, she’s quite attentive, but it seems that Deacon has made it his mission to distract her by any means necessary.

“Are you listening?” Carrington asks, frown firmly in place.

Julia snaps to attention, smiling brightly. “Yes, of course. Rescue the synth. I’m on it!” She takes the care package from him and darts away before he can scold her inattentiveness.

Gaze darting around HQ, she sighs when Deacon’s nowhere to be found. “Damn that man,” she murmurs under her breath, deciding to just head out on her mission without him. If he wants to come, he’ll find her.

Just as she’s leaving the Church, Deacon pops up by her side. “Awww, c’mon, boss, why are you leaving without me?”

“Because _someone_ was hiding from me,” she growls, cutting him a halfhearted glare.

He fakes injury, falling all over himself dramatically. “Oh, dear lady, you wound me so!”

Julia rolls her eyes, leaving him without a backward glance. With a loud harrumph, he trots up beside her. “You are _no_ fun.”

She nods without looking at him. “Nope. No fun at all. Not sure why you’re still here.”

“That’s easy! A funny man always needs his straight man to play off.” When Julia cuts her eyes toward him, he blows her a quick kiss.

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You are _impossible._ ”

“Don’t I know it,” he agrees, leaning into her as she tosses her arm around his shoulders.


	12. Morning Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a strange thing, waking up to a bed that isn't empty.
> 
> Deacon PoV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC Kiss Week, Day 6
> 
> Enjoy!

Deacon yawns, stretching away the lingering remnants of sleep. He jerks when he bumps into warmth by his side, a lop-sided grin slipping into place when he notices the source. It’s been several months, but he still isn’t used to Charmer sharing his bed. No, not Charmer. _Julia._

He thankfully didn’t wake her –honestly, the woman seems to sleep like a log these days– and he brushes a strand of hair from her eyes. She sighs, snuggling closer. His chest aches pleasantly, heart suddenly feeling far too full, as he studies the lines of her face. The small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the hint of too much sun kissing her cheekbones, the dusty pink tint of her lips.

He loves each of these things, could never tire of watching her. He isn’t sure what sort of karma he pulled for someone like her to even give him the time of day, but he’s glad. He’d forgotten how lonely he was over the long years, forgotten the feeling of comfort a lover could give. In truth, he never believed he’d have that sort of cherished warmth again.

Leaning over, he kisses her slowly. Her eyelids flutter, the first indication she’s waking, and she’s kissing him back, hand curling around the nape of his neck into the strands of hair he’s allowed to grow.

She hums into his mouth before pulling back, eyes heavily lidded. There’s a languid smile breaking across her face, and his heart flips at the sight. “Good morning,” she murmurs huskily, words laced with fatigue.

He grins back, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth of her smile. “Mornin’, sleepyhead.” If he spent every morning for the rest of his days like this, Deacon’s certain he’d die a happy man.


	13. Last Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wasteland is dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC Kiss Week, Day 7
> 
> Enjoy!

The Deathclaw appears out of nowhere. Julia doesn’t even know what’s happening until Deacon shoves her and is flung by the creature’s massive swipe. His body lands with a sickening sound, but she can’t worry about that.

Darting away, she takes pot shots at the beast, pushing away thoughts of her companion until later. Julia knows if she isn’t careful, they’ll both die here. _We can’t._ Tears prick the corners of her eyes that she fiercely blinks away.

After seemingly an age, the great hulk of a beast drops.

Flying over to Deacon’s side, Julia leans over him and assesses the damage. The Deathclaw’s massive claws ripped open a gaping wound, and there’s blood _everywhere._ More than there should be. Swallowing down the lump rising in her throat, she tosses out the contents of her pack, searching desperately for a stim.

There isn’t one.

“Deacon,” she whispers frantically, taking his face in her hands, “ _Ryan,_ sweetie, look at me. You have to stay awake.” Julia can’t stop shaking.

His sunglasses are gone, flying who knows where, and he blinks sluggishly, eyes dancing as he tries to focus. He still manages a grin, even as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. “Out… of stims, huh?”

“Shut up,” she sobs, wet slipping down her face like a waterfall and plopping onto his cheeks. “Just… _please–_ ”

“Don’t cry,” he whispers, the words rasping up his throat. Every breath rattles ominously in his chest, sick and wet and wrong, and there is nothing she can do to fix it.

She leans closer, desperate to feel the warmth she’s so fond of, the warmth that drives away the cold and fear. He already feels so cool. “Please,” she begs, like a prayer, _“Please don’t leave me.”_

“W-who’s… goin’,” he coughs, weak and damp, “goin’ anywhere?” Deacon’s trying to keep her together, even now, but Julia can’t pretend.

His eyes, so bright and blue, are growing dimmer, a strange haziness to them that makes her think of Nate, in the Vault cold and dead. Her face twists with anguish, brows furrowed and lips trembling as waves of sorrow batter her.

She surges forward, claiming his lips in one final kiss, one last testament to this beautiful man that loves her. He’s slow to respond, and he’s so cold. Somehow, he manages to thread his fingers through her hair, but it’s all so wrong. It can’t end like this.

“Jules, b-baby,” he croaks, breath fading. “I… love you.”

She shatters into a million pieces with that tiny confession. He’s never offered them before, at least not with words. He’s always shown her how much he loved her, his actions speaking when he couldn’t quite manage. She trembles.

_“I love you, too. So much.”_ She threads her fingers through his hair. “Please, just stay with me.”

“Don’t…worry, b-beautiful,” his voice is all but gone, “I… I’ll be… _just fi–_ ” His breath hitches before softly exhaling. He goes limp in her arms, and Julia _can’t breathe._

“Deacon? _Deacon?”_ She shakes him slightly, unable to handle the truth she already knows. _“Ryan!”_ Great heaving sobs pour from her, her chest twisting like a vice. She grabs up her gun, face distorting in a fit of rage, and stalks back over the the dead heap of a Deathclaw. She empties the clip in its sorry hide.

She puts in another. Empties it. Repeats it until there is nothing left of her ammo, but she keeps pulling the trigger as she weeps. She can’t stop. If she does, the reality of Deacon being _gone_ will consume her.

She expects his hand to fall onto hers, stop her self-destruct like he always has, but there’s no gentle touch to her wrist. No soft words to sooth her. Only the cold and the wind and the coppery tang of blood in the air as she falls apart.


End file.
